Ass-you-me

I've been playing with my template(s) ... can you tell?!

What a ridiculous waste of an entire morning. Ahh, well, it was FUN!

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OK, on to the serious stuff:

Have you ever noticed how assumptive (is that a word?) people are? They take one look at you (or even hear you on the phone) and they form a whole slew of assumptions about you. Why is that? Human nature? Well, it's an ugly part of it.

I worked for a Pennsylvania-based company for many years. I discovered quite quickly that many of the employees there were extrememly racially prejudiced.

I am not. My workplace here in SC was also 98% black. But it was assumed, by many of my northern co-workers, that because I’m white and from the South that I just MUST be a bigot. I got to be the stoney-faced recipient of many a nudge, nudge, you understand right? nasty infrence and stupid sotto voce comment.

People will also assume you’re christian. If the kids are with me, then I absolutely have to be catholic or LDS.

"You’re not catholic?"
"no. I—"
"Ohhh. You’re wunnuh them mormons!"
"It’s LDS, actually, but no –"
(looking carefully around at my children) "You’re not a mormon?" (as if I may have, perhaps, forgotten. Lost my official card or something.)
"No, I’m not even christian."

Then they assume I’m Jewish. ('Cause, ya know, there ain't no other religions on the face of the planet except them BOO-dists and them camel jockeys and theys all dark.) And then they do this weird thing where the look me over carefully (perhaps for tell-tale signs of Jewishness?). I never know whether to throw up my hands in disgust, burst into laughter, or begin channeling Mike Meyers as the Coffee Talk Lady.

I mean, what exactly are they looking for? A dreidle keychain? Gefilte Fish Jerky Snax peeking from my handbag?

Here, I’ll show you my sons’ penises. Oh wait, that won’t help.

Official types always assume that Darling Hubby and I have the same last name. This one makes me grit my teeth. It’s bad enough that most fucking idiots don’t know how to use a married woman’s title (quick tutorial: a married woman who’s changed her name has a name (Ms.) Mary Jones (in my case: Ms. Mary Smith) and a title Mrs. John Jones. Note that her title is exactly the same whether she chose to change her name or not. You're John Jones's wife so you're Mrs. John Jones.
Also, while I’m bitching, please address envelopes as Mary and John Jones NOT John and Mary Jones – never split a man’s name - or better yet Mr and Mrs John Jones. This way if Mary hasn’t changed her name there’s no offense. Unless Mary’s an idiot and doesn’t realize that she collected the the title Mrs. His Name with the ring. *sigh*

Where was I?

Anyway it’s irritating as fuck. And insulting too. Not just to me, but to the people that are being stereotyped.

Men assume I know nothing about computers or cars or farming (have gotten in some good jabs there – I know a bit more than the average bear) but I have to put up with the Sue Storm Effect when Darling Hubby’s about. That’s where I’m attempting to speak with, oh, let’s say some 18 year old punk employee in the Napa about a car problem.

The rule states that: as long as a person in possession of a penis is accompanying a female that all conversation will be directed at him even if the punk employee was just speaking to said female about the problem and it’s painfully apparent that the penis-bearer in question knows fuck-all on the subject.

I mystifyingly become invisible when the rule takes effect. So much so (are there degrees of invisibility?) that we end up having these freaky triumverate convos:

Me: " … It could be the fuel pump"
Punk Employee: "Yeah, that’s what it sounds like"
Me: "Do you have that in stock?"
(Evil Genius Husband appears and Punk Employee's gaze fixes on his face like an acolyte and the punk actually turns his back to me)
PE: (to EGH) "Yeah, sounds like the fuel pump"
EGH smiles pleasantly – as he has no idea what’s going on. He just fucking walked up.
Me: (to the back of Punk Employee’s buzzed head) "In stock? The fuel pump?"
EGH: "Ahh …"
Me: "…so that I could, you know, PURCHASE IT?!"
EGH: (helpfully) "would you have that in stock? The … the pumper…"
Me: (through gritted teeth) "Fuel pump."
PE: (Nodding vigorously at DH) "yeah, yeah, I prolly got a fuel pump in stock, man! Lemme go look."

Now I know where the 'ass' part of assume came from. I've met him /her many many times. Just call me the Ass Magnet. And that's Ms. Ass Magnet to you.